This morning I ran 3.6 miles! Only 9.5 miles to go. The last half mile was pretty rough, but I made it, slowly, one foot in front of the other.
At one point near the end of my run, the song I was listening to on my phone came to an end and there was a long stretch of silence before the next song began. I really dislike those stretches of silence sometimes - at the end of my long runs I rely on the music to keep me going, to keep me focused, to keep my mind off how much everything hurts. In the silence I hear my labored breathing, hear the sounds of my feet smacking the hard ground, hear the noise of traffic or construction or other people's conversations. With the music it is easier for me to run with purpose, without it running often feels a lot more like work.
Today however, just as I started to groan inwardly at how long the next song was taking to begin, a new sound caught my ear. I was running through a park and the songbirds were really making "a joyful noise" in the trees on one side of me. I smiled immediately because I love the sound of birds singing (who doesn't?), and this morning their commotion sounded very much like boisterous voices cheering me on as I ran.
I love songbirds. I love waking up in the morning, while it is still dark, and hearing them singing outside my window - announcing, without any alarm clock, the impending arrival of a new day. I especially love that first morning, near the end of a long winter (and this winter was the longest, wasn't it?) when you first hear their voices. To me, someone who struggles deeply in winter with its short days and long nights, those first early morning songs are the sound of hope - the reminder that this too shall pass and that if I can hold on just a little longer, I will once again be surrounded by a world of light and warmth.
It struck me this morning as I ran that Christians are called to the same purpose as songbirds. We are called to be the heralds of the Light of the World, singing a song of hope and courage to those still sitting in darkness. Often I listen to the news or read the headlines, and I feel so disheartened, discouraged by the seemingly great ocean of evil and hatred and suffering all around me. But this morning I felt encouraged, invigorated by the gentle reminder that we are called to be the harbingers of Good News to a world that is waiting, often in hopelessness and despair, just as the songbirds are the harbingers of spring and of a new dawn to those of us who cannot yet feel it or see it. The birds don't feel it or see it yet either, but they know it is coming, and they sing out their joyful song in the beautiful way they were created to do. We, too, will soon enjoy the light and beauty of a glorious (and eternal!) spring day, but first we must usher it in as songbirds in the darkness of a waning night.
It is is said that Pheidippides ran the first marathon in Greece from a battlefield to the city of Athens to announce the victory of the Greeks over the Persians in a military conflict. (The fable goes on to say that he then collapsed and died, which is why I am running a half-marathon, people. HALF-marathon.) I'll be running my race in October because I want to join with the staff and volunteers at Heartline Ministries in being a forerunner of hope to the people of Haiti, announcing a victory that is finished even as they wait, and the advent of a Kingdom of Peace to those who have known much more of loss and violence than I can ever imagine.
It takes courage and perseverance to be a forerunner. It takes faith to be a songbird. It takes eyes to see what the Creator is about to reveal, and it takes the courage to sing out the Good News of the victory of the Unconquerable Son to a world still shrouded in darkness.
So to the songbirds of this world: Take heart! We hear you. Your voice makes a difference, and when we hear it, we have hope.
And to those who feel worn out and alone, tired of waiting, tired of enduring: I know it has been a long winter, the longest night. But close your eyes and listen: "the birds their carol raise." The Light of the World is coming! Dawn is almost here!
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I can't end a post about songbirds without including a link to one of my all-time favorite songs ever: Redwing by Hem. Listen and enjoy!
Redwing
Hey, was that you floating past the tree line?
Hey, was that a feather in your hand?
No, I don't mean to ask these questions
I don't mean to rush your heart
I swear I saw this accidentally
No, I don't mean to start
Hey, the rain falls straight into the sidewalk
Hey, the clouds hang heavy in the sky
But I don't want to still believe in
The gravity of solid ground
The world below is not so big
That it can keep us down
We are standing on the rooftops
We are circling like sparrows
We are tiny, we are trembling
Scared of everything
But the heart is still a redwing
Fly above the houses and the schoolyards
And fly until you cannot feel the Earth
No, I don't mean that it's so easy
And I don't mean that it's so small
But the world below is not so mean
That it can make us fall
We are standing on the rooftops
We are circling like sparrows
We are tiny, we are trembling
Scared of everything
But the heart is still a redwing
Songwriters
Daniel R. Messe
Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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*"Hope" is the thing with feathers - (314) by Emily Dickinson
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On October 19th of this year, I will be running the St. Louis Rock-n-Roll Half-Marathon with the goal of raising $5,000 for Heartline Ministries and the women of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. If you would like to support me in my efforts, please visit my Pure Charity fundraising page for more information! Thank you!
